No-one Mourns the Wicked
by shingekinohomo
Summary: "Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?" Luke ponders over his life as he waits for Judgement. Oneshot.


**Re-uploaded from my Wattpad account because I haven't had time to write anything new for a while. Sorry if it's a bit cheesy, haha, but I wanted a scene where they reconcile and idk this happened. Let me know what you think :)**

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_Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?_

Until his timely demise, Luke had been certain that he knew what pain was. What it meant to him.

There was the unexplained absence of a father, the deranged mother trying to force him into becoming an idealistic version of a child that had never been. He could easily recall many a night of terror, locking himself in the attic or even roughing it when the weather was tolerable, hoping in vain that her fits would subside. His prayers, his cries for help? Never did a thing,

Then meeting Thalia, once he'd cracked and left for good- those were the days, eh? She'd been close to his everything, during the period he then dubbed as the 'darkest' in his life. How Halcyon must be jeering at him now. Past Luke really hadn't had a clue.

All had been fine- Annabeth joined them, Thalia remained by their sides- until that fateful day, when Luke's world shifted once more on its axis and all hopes of a future shattered, ripped to shreds like Thalia's body would've been had it not for her father's half-assed transforming her into a pine. Seriously, a tree? He would've laughed, had the situation not been so horrific.

He was reluctant to reminisce the years that followed. Ashamed to, really. Hermes' failed quest. Stuck at camp, patronised and disgraced, as he was destined to for the rest of his days.

He'd lost his grip on reality. Screwed up big-time, as Jackson would say. And gods, why had he burdened Annabeth with those last dying words? Yes, he loved her. But he'd seen the disgust in her eyes. In all of their eyes. _You monster._ But she said nothing of the sort, and that- aside from the actual physical disfiguration, the wounds- damaged him the most.

It humoured Luke that he'd reached a point where self-pity replaced the initial onset of self-loathing. Spending time in the Underworld did this to people, it seemed. He had been fighting an urge to kill himself onceover, but unfortunately, there was the a_lready dead_ thing to deal with. Boo, him. These thoughts, he decided, were synonymous to the swarm of vultures that would enevitably close in on his wretched carcass in the Fields of Punishment- once Hades got round to sentencing him there, whenever that would be. The queue, at the moment, closely resembled one in high-peak Disneyworld. Luke's face contorted into a grimace, though he doubted anyone could tell through all the smog. Twenty-three or not, he was certain he'd miss theme parks.

"Lot of 'em coming," a ghoul several feet before him complained. "Big bloomin' war up there, or summat."

"So inconsiderate, those mortals," another huffed, exhaling loudly, and uneccessarily. Although he couldn't smell the thing's breath, per se, what with the whole _dead_ thing and all, Luke satisfied himself with a bitter grimace. "Been waitin' long, dearie?" a wispy dark thing enquired, but he didn't grace her with a reply. Alive, his smart mouth and ambitions had been the death of him. He didn't want to screw up even more. If that was even possible.

Time passed differently in the Underworld. What felt like hours could have only been minutes up above, and Luke's thoughts travelled constantly to the others. He wondered if the heroes had been buried yet. Against his will, his mind scraped up each agonizing memory from the past, replaying and relaying those treasured moments to such an extent that he began doubting whether they belonged to reality, or his corrupted subconscious. _Pull yourself together,_ Luke wanted to whisper. Nobody else was to blame besides him. Was he spineless enough to shift a part of the guilt onto someone- _anyone_- so that their sanity would crumble alongside his? Luke was certain that if the possibility arose, there'd be no doubt about it.

_Why? Why?_ His translucent nails dug deeper into his palms. If Hermes' hadn't been such a lousy father, then-

No. He couldn't keep thinking like this.

Silena was dead because of him.

Annabeth had barely survived.

Luke murmured a hasty prayer to whoever was listening- please, let Thalia be alive too. He didn't care too much about the goat, but his two closest friends... But hopefully his little stunt with the dagger had done the trick...If not, then... He didn't want to think about it.

"Not your friends anymore, dearie," the ghoul commented, from under an oversized cloak. "I've 'eard of you. You're one o' them Kronos people." Luke's hands curled into fists, tense, ready for battle. He forcibly unclenched them, greatful for the cover of darkness. "That's right." The dead woman tutted, eyeing him in disdain. "Disgraceful. You oughta be ashamed o' yourselves!"

_Oh,_ Luke wanted to say,_ I am._ Though who'd ever believe him.

The things he'd do to go back, to put things right...

He was blatantly kidding himself. The Underworld did that to people sometimes- paranoia, depression, delusions... all a side-effect of death, it seemed. Take now, for starters. Staring blankly up at the winding plethora of souls miserably trudging up ahead, a small voice in the back of his mind kept producing Annabeth's face, then Thalia's, then Percy's, Chiron's, Thalia's again.. He realized the queue had shifted a metre or so and took a shaky step forward, shuddering at himself. _You disgust me._ "I know," Luke whispered. His hand reached for his sword, instinctively, at the sound behind him, but of course it wasn't there- neither was the sound, for the next batch of deceased were a fair distance away- no rush, Lord Hades was taking his damned time. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek- whether he was meant to taste the tang of blood, as a ghost, he didn't know, but-

"Luke?" _Who'd be calling you? They're all glad you're gone._

There it was again- yet another auditory hallucination, about to get the better of him. Luke allowed a muttering couple to pass, bowing his head to conceal himself. The girl was wearing the tattered remains of battle armour, the boy with a scar down his exposed chest. _Campers._ Luke realized that they'd fallen _for_ him, yet he didn't even know their names. Truth be told, he'd never cared.

_"Luke!"_ Thalia's voice. He felt his eyes burning- maybe one of the few human qualities the Underworld hadn't sucked from his being yet?- and looked to his feet. Tendrils of ashy-grey smoke curled upwards, over him, over everything. _Stop it. If I'd have known this was going to be the punishment- please, make it stop!_ It didn't, and the line shifted once more.

He knew that when Judged, his eternity in hell was bleak. Pecked to death by demon chickens? Done. Endlessly stung by killer scorpions? How Percy would laugh. Not even deep down- his self-loathing had currently been reassigned to Sole Emotion- Luke knew that he deserved this.

So absorbed in self-pity, it took several hard thumps before Luke was shaken from his reverie. It helped that he couldn't feel anything, reacting only to the sight of bruised, chain-clad fist smashing into his chest. He spun round wildly, cussing, which only earned him another smack on the arm."L-" Thalia took a moment to regain her breath, clutching onto the Yankees cap for dear life, pressing her hands against her thighs. Her jeans were torn below the knees. "You're not- You haven't been- I mean, you're still-"

_Thalia?_ No. This was taking things too far.

She was clearly alive.

Kohl was smudged around her eyes, giving them an even wilder, manic appearance than usual. Her hair was on end- still from the battle, probably- and she'd thankfully removed the magical glowing tiara thing. The stress from everything, the paleness, the remains of a split lip- all were tossed aside as she stood, staring at him in half-masked disbelief. _Was she..? _No. Even in death (pun not intended), Thalia Grace simply did not do tears. Instead, she flung her arms around him and Luke pulled her close, just as they'd done so many times as kids. "You- you came?" Luke couldn't hide his bewilderment, choking down everything else. Unlike the souls, he could feel her warmth, inhale the familiar scent of _home._ "Couldn't just let you leave," Thalia muttered thickly, head buried in his shoulder. "Had to say goodbye." A few curious passers-by overtook them, and one idiot wolf-whistled. Nobody seemed to care that he was conversing with the living.

"Why, though?" _I nearly killed you. Annabeth. Jackson. Destroyed Manhattan. Olympus._ He wouldn't let go of her, for fear of this moment ending. Then, "I'm so sorry."

Luke's apologies meant nothing, that he was certain of, but Thalia hadn't come unprepared. "Listen," she told him slowly, clearly. "You're trying for rebirth."

"That's impossible."

He scoffed, not taking his eyes off the fifteen year old- no, Thalia was timeless- girl stood before him. She shook her head, stepping back to allow another gaggle to pass through. "Hear me out. Percy, Annabeth and I... We talked. To the gods." Luke's heart sank. Thalia's eyes flashed. He knew this look- it was nostalgic, in a depressing way. He couldn't bear it. "They- it wasn't easy," Thalia spoke carefully, "but I think they'll let you."

Luke was shaking his head. "No, no. It's never going to work." _Nothing ever works out for me,_ he wanted to add, but that would only add to the loathing Thalia harboured for him. He felt like a child again, drowning in thoughts he simply could not put into words. For Thalia, for Annabeth...his mother... "Oh, pull yourself together!" Thalia growled, digging her heels into the murky shadows beneath her feet- and suddenly they were kissing. To Luke, it felt like aeons of bottled-up emotions were leaping up, escaping through this heated exchange. Hands tangled in hair, arms around each other- he did momentarily freeze, coming to the realisation that he _was _that much older than her, and also _dead_- but this was everything they hadn't done as youngsters, everything they'd wanted to, but hadn't had the chance, too preoccupied with trivial things such as staying alive. When they finally pulled apart, Thalia's breathless face was stony. "I can't believe we just did that." Her hands were twitching. "Luke, Annabeth must never know. The H- Nobody must know!" Though she tried and failed to maintain a blank facade, it was the bitterness in her voice that stung him the most.

"Guess you won't be worrying about this any time soon," Luke attempted something resembling a smile but his voice cracked, betraying him. "Thalia, I-"

She shook her head, gnawing fervently on her bottom lip. "Don't. Enough is enough."

_Please. I know I've done wrong. Hell, that's the understatement of the century. I've sinned. Murdered in cold blood. Betrayed your trust. Hurt Annabeth. But I never meant any of this. _His own excuses sickened him. _And I fully understand that you don't- that you _can't_ bring yourself to- can't condone these actions, my actions, ever- and that's fine, that's only human, but if you're ever- if we ever meet, in another lifetime- but you're immortal, that complicates things- forget it, it doesn't matter...The point being, if you're ever ready, even if it's in years to come, after an eternity, then gods, please, please try to forgive me. _He was scum. The lowest of the low. _Unworthy to even look at her._

His trembling, pathetic form seemed to melt into the night, vanishing without so much as final glance. _Cowardly. Worthless. Garbage._

"Goodbye, Luke," was all Thalia managed. She donned the cap. _Please, don't make things worse._

And later, far later than she would allow herself to believe it, one moonlit night when her Hunters left her be, gazing up at the constellations, alone with her thoughts, she swore on his godsforsaken buriel shroud that the whispers had murmured, "_Forgive me_."


End file.
